The Warrior's Dream
by Haitorei
Summary: Itachi was a man torn between the love for his country and family. A warrior who served the political interests at the expense of his own humanity. A man who invested his final hope in what he saw as a chance to escape servitude - in Sasuke. Oneshot.


Enjoy.

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Becoming a warrior is not a choice.

"Tell me, Sasuke-kun," the elder woman beamed at her youngest. "Are you going to become a ninja like your Onii-san?"

The boy nodded vigorously, soon falling over – his young limbs unable to handle the rapid shift in weight.

It is not a joke. Nor is it a whim.

She chuckled, kissing her boy on the cheek.

He frowned, wiping the kiss away. "Ninjas are tough. We don't need kisses" said the boy, now pouting exasperatedly.

"Ah, I see. Well, do they still their mothers to make lunch for them?"

The boy thought for a minute, then nodded. "Every ninja needs his nutrients." He said, lecturing his mother wisely.

She picked him up gently, nudging his check with her nose. "Why do you want to be a ninja anyway, huh? They're all so boring. Look at your father. All he does every day is work."

"I'm becoming a ninja." He said, crossing his arms next to his mother's breast.

It is an absolute, final resolution that is indisputably decided by fate even before birth. After that, it's a mere matter of preparing the body and mind for what is to come: a world of inevitable conflict and ravaging brutality that eats away at the soul, a world where the strings are always pulled by some other puppeteer higher up in the chain.

"When will you teach it to me?"

Itachi flicked Sasuke's forehead lightly. "Some other time, Sasuke."

Sasuke rubbed his forehead, frowning. "You always say that."

"Why don't you ask Father?"

"Everyone knows you do it the best! Why don't you spend time at home anymore? You're always gone."

"I have orders Sasuke." Itachi's voice was hollow, barely a whisper, and yet, stolid as ever.

Sasuke growled. "What's the point of protecting all of us every day if you can never even spend time with us, huh? All those missions – what's the goddamn point?"

Itachi chuckled. "I don't have a choice, Sasuke."

"Let's go talk to Hokage-sama. He's the one giving you orders, right? You can take a break!"

Itachi shook his head. "He has his orders, too, Sasuke. You'll understand some day. We all have our orders."

A warrior is not a noble pugilist fighting for peace in the world; he is not the evangelical force representing the ultimate command of some higher order; he is not the refuge of his native soil nor is he the sacrificial lamb upon which the protectorate rests.

"We have verified the suspicions."

Itachi frowned underneath his mask, wiping the blood off of his sleeve. He was just back from an S class mission. "And the _only_ solution that has been grafted is wiping out the entire clan?" he snapped back.

"It is an unfortunate truth." Danzou hissed. "The damiyou has already agreed. Even the fool Sarutobi can see the necessity of this. It is time for the liberalism that haunts Konoha to end. We face too many threats already. We do not know when they are going to attack, but we must wipe them out before it is too late. No one else is capable of this. Konoha needs you now, more than ever."

Itachi did not respond.

"Itachi-kun, come. You are the noble hero upon whose sacrifice rests the peace and security for Konoha. You are testament to both patriotism and altruism. Your country needs you, Itachi." But Danzou's sympathetic pleading was only greeted with silence. Suddenly, at his nod, seven ANBU Root officers surrounded Itachi. "I do hope you understand, Itachi-kun. For all your sake."

"Hai." Itachi grunted roughly.

The warrior is the lowest of trash that legitimizes the dreams and fantasies of politicians dreaming far beyond the walls of their mansions. He is the leader of the inevitable crusade for nihilism, the façade of happiness and momentary peace that hides the world's abyss. He is the pawn of a constantly larger, suicidal mechanical entity that seeks to destroy the humanity residing in each combatant, turning him into just another gear to make the operations run like clockwork.

"Itachi seems more and more perturbed, ne Okaa-san?"

"He's having a rough time, Sasuke."

"Why, what's going on?"

"It's all the missions, I think."

Sasuke looked at his mother, frowning. It couldn't be true. There had to be more – there always was with his brother. His brother, the pride of the Uchiha clan. His brother, graduating at 6, ANBU by 13. His brother, the strongest Uchiha yet.

It is always a battle hollowed by its own worthless nature. An inevitable fight never worth the benefits.

The warrior is the epitome of the Archimedean tragedy, the symbol of the constant enactment of external desires at the expense of his own inclinations, the artifice by which the state can continue its sovereign control, smoothing out the edges of resistance in the name of morality.

Sasuke returned late that night from the Academy. The full moon lit the eerily empty streets of the Uchiha complex. The darkness was fought back with the streetlights, but a loneliness overcame the young boy as he ran through the path home. His heart began pounding as the blood rushed to his head.

"Sasuke."

He heard whispers around the corners of the streets. Was this genjutsu? He didn't know. He couldn't know. He just kept running – he didn't even know where he was going, but he had to run, he knew it. Atop the highest watchtower with the full moon in the background – if only for a second – was an ANBU officer. His white tiger mask had red stripes. The black blended in with the night atmosphere well, and the fresh katana gleaned eagerly, its razor sharp edge smiling at Sasuke. If only for a moment, he thought he saw this monstrous figure, blood on the bandages of his arms, his pants torn slightly. If only for a flash, he thought he saw a Konoha forehead protector with a deep scar in the middle, scratching out the Leaf symbol. If only for a lifetime would he remember that night…

Sasuke bolted off towards his home. Fear has many ways of haunting someone. Nightmares can scare people for years. Omens and mysterious signs can jolt people into irrational panic. But Sasuke's fear seized him from his guts. It wrenched him and tore him apart as he bordered on insanity. Flinging the door open, he obsessed over every crack, every shadow – convinced that _this_ time it was the dark figure.

As he entered what used to be his welcoming and familiar home, his senses drew him to the dark liquid that his foot was immersed in. _Blood._ Sasuke looked around, seeing his father and mother collapsed, open wounds gushing with the crimson poison that seeped through the living room. Looking dead center was the same figure, hidden in the shadows of the curtains. Stepping forth, the figure calmly muttered the fateful words.

Sasuke suddenly shivered uncontrollably. He wanted to move, but his feet were cemented to the floor. He wanted to cry, but somehow his throat constricted beyond breath. He wanted to think, but his thoughts were a chaotic slate of anxiety, unable to form coherent meaning of the world before him.

He saw his brother's eyes turn crimson, the wheels turning at an increasingly rapid pace.

'_You're going to kill me!_' Sasuke wasn't even sure if he had said those words – or even thought them – they seemed to come out of pure instinct, but his brother appeared to read his mind.

"You're not even worth killing."

Sasuke ran, ran hard by impulse, not knowing why or where, or even how. He just barely avoided the carts on the streets, the dead bodies he leaped over not bothering to look who it was or if he knew them. Suddenly, his brother's body was in front of him once more.

A punch landed in his stomach, what little breath he managed to gain through adrenaline, knocked out of him instantly.

"Run, little brother. Run and hold on to your dear life. Live on the edges of society, clinging to your pathetic life."

The warrior was an interesting figure, if anything. A figure born out of the hatred and spite of man for his comrades discriminated by artificial borders. A figure murdered out of man's inability to forgive the petty mistakes or look beyond the walls drawn by politicians and businessmen. The warrior was the garbage can upon whom the world could dump their pathetic loathing. Why? It was much cleaner than dealing with it themselves.

Itachi was a warrior. From the blood that ran in his veins, down to the very cells that gave him life, the man was destined for war. But that didn't make it any easier.

Itachi was a soul torn between the love of his family and the love of his country. He was a man who followed orders to the letter, even if it meant his own death.

Sasuke slammed the door of the shrine. "So that's how it is…"

Sasuke looked at the city that killed his entire family, glaring at the Hokage's Monument, the standing symbol for what each and every good ninja aspired to be. From the gleeful future-shinobis at the Academy who had no idea what they were getting into, to the pathetic politicians who fucked in the hot springs… He'd make them pay for what they had done. He'd make each and every single one of them pay. Sasuke knew what he had to do. He ran towards the Sound, leaping from tree to tree.

A ninja landed in front of him, head fully immersed in the delusional optimism, flaxen hair waving in the breeze.

Lightning started cracking from Sasuke's hands.

The warrior is a slave to the desiring machines that run the world. The desires that manifest themselves in orders, missions, systematic dehumanizations. The machines that run the world ensure order, rigidity – a kind of stricture that squeezes the hopes and dreams out, filling the void with externalized desires that he is convinced is absolutely necessary… that he is convinced will bring him happiness.

One did not choose to become a warrior. One was _chosen_ to become a warrior.

Sasuke was done with warriors. Done with honorable shinobi who obliged the every whim of their villages. He tore his forehead protector with this kunai, ripping apart the Leaf symbol.

Ah, but to be a dissenter? Now that was a choice.

The warrior's dream is not to come home a hero or to save lives or even know that their fight was worth something, worth anything. It is to be free. To be a rebel.

Tears journeyed down Sasuke's rough cheeks, dousing the parched skin. Sasuke's knuckles whitened as his nails dug into his palms, grip tightening on a Leaf headband that had a single scar through it. His brother was the brunt end of those desires – the dutiful shinobi who simply followed orders, the loyal Konoha ANBU who simply cooperated… the valorous Uchiha who saved Konoha from an internal rebellion by destroying himself. Killing his best friend so he could gain the secret to kill his entire family, one by one… keeping only his brother alive for hope that one day, the slavery would end. That's what Sasuke was – a dying man's last hope. Closing his eyes, Sasuke breathed "I will avenge you, Nii-san."

But what is an insurgent but another warrior seeking the same freedom?

Sasuke's eyes opened, crimson with blood, obsidian with determination.

"Move out of the way, Naruto."

"I'll bring you back to Konoha, Sasuke. Even if I have to break every one of your bones and drag you back. I'll do it."

Sasuke didn't expect Naruto to understand. He didn't expect anyone to understand.

If he was going to be a slave, hell, he was going to be a slave to himself. To his own desires. His own vengeance instead of someone else's. There wasn't much of a difference, and it probably wasn't true freedom… but in the insignificance of it all, fuck. It was something. It was enough.

Sasuke's hand cut through Naruto's bare chest…

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- Haitorei


End file.
